Jack pulled his soft hat well down over his eyes, walked over to a switch and leaned against it in such a way as to keep his eyes upon the conductor and the two men with whom he was talking.
He noticed that both the fellow with his arm in a sling and his companion kept glancing around frequently in a way which struck him as suspicious.
“I never saw Coffey, the scoundrel who shot Mr. Prawle, and therefore cannot say if this fellow bears any resemblance to him,” mused Jack; “but I do know he was hit in the arm by the prospector on that fatal occasion. As for the other, that may be Otis Clymer disguised—he’s about the same height and build as the ex-drug clerk. Well, I must say I don’t like the look of things. There may be nothing in it, but all the same they seem to be taking an uncommon interest in that car of mine. And that reminds me of the story Mr. Prawle told us one evening of the stealing of a car of copper matte in which a friend of his was interested. The rascals painted out the number of the car and shunted it off on a branch line where another car was due. Then when the car was found again it was empty, and, of course, nobody knew what had become of the stuff that was in it. It had just disappeared mysteriously. Such a thing could only be accomplished by bribing the conductor of the freight. I would not like to have such a game played off on me.”
At this point in the boy’s reflections the conductor received a small package from one of the men, which he immediately dropped into his pocket, and then the three walked slowly down the track.
Jack immediately dashed around to the other side of the line of loaded freight cars and ran down the track till he had caught up with the trio who were walking on the other side of the train.
He kept pace with them until he reached the front car and then stood in its shadow in order to get a closer observation of the three men, in two of whom he now felt a great interest.
Fate willed that they, too, should come to a halt at the other side of the car, and easily within earshot of the bright boy.
“You won’t fail us, then, Dorgan?” said the man in the heavy beard, whose tones had such a familiar ring to Jack that he instinctively muttered, “That is Otis Clymer sure enough, therefore there is no doubt whatever in my mind but that the wounded man is Coffey. Evidently there is some mischief on foot.”
And this fact was made certain to the boy when the conductor replied:
“You may rely on me. I’ll have the car of copper shunted off at Benson’s Crossing. You had better have your teams on hand as soon after midnight as possible, for we’re due there at 11:55 p. m. I’ll see to it that the number of the car is altered to 900, which is the number of an empty I’ve got to leave at the crossing.”